


build it bigger than the sun

by Adversarial



Category: Star vs. The Forces Of Evil
Genre: Anger Management, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Celebratory Nachos, Coercive Parenting, Dealing With Anger Issues Via Bunny Therapy - Freeform, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Light Stalking, Love Sentence, M/M, Sexual Content, Some Obsessive Behavior, Tom Needs a Hug, Warranted Angst, but like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-21
Updated: 2016-11-21
Packaged: 2018-09-01 06:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8612818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adversarial/pseuds/Adversarial
Summary: And you're willing to make this work, you want to change, really, but the kid's just so infuriating, smug in all the worst ways and you swear to Satan he's intentionally testing your patience. 
You see Brian looking sternly at you through the eyes of his white tiger costume and you take a deep breath, collect your willpower, ignore the little voice screaming at you to disembowel someone, and put in your best effort. 
Lo and behold, it works.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This work takes place in an AU where the events of the main series take place over the course of four years, ending with the events of Blood Moon Ball and Friendenemies.
> 
> Edit: Now [illustrated](http://jess-the-vampire.tumblr.com/post/158520523793/when-a-fanfic-actually-manages-to-make-you-cry-and) by the amazingly talented Jess-the-vampire!

It's not like you _like_ getting angry, you explain to Brian. It's just. Comforting, almost. 

You pet the bunny in your lap, give it a tiny scritch behind the ears while Brian scribbles something on his notepad. Out of all of the anger management counselors your parents have hired so far, he's stuck around the longest.

(indefatigable, you heard the duke say to your mother. this guy can take the sex drive out of an incubus. he'll fix your son up in no time.)

No. Not comforting. More like... Easy. Yeah, easy. Because when you're getting upset, or when something hurts, or you're jealous, or someone's being an idiot, you can just wrap yourself up in the anger like a blanket. You can shout and catch things on fire and break whatever's hurting you into lots of little pieces and just. Not think.

Brian spouts something about "working through your emotions productively" and you nod and keep petting the bunny and take a deep breath and try to ignore the fact that you just publicly trashed the most important dance the in Underworld because of a girl, because thinking about it too hard will make you angry again and now really isn't the time for that.

\---

Weeks pass and your father puts on a good PR campaign and your subjects forget that you managed to ruin a sacred ceremony with one of your "moods". You try to keep Star off your mind. You steadfastly refuse to acknowledge the burning, terrifying rage you feel whenever you think of the uppity little Earth turd who stole your dance that night. You vent to Brian and he scribbles in his notebook and next thing you know you've been clean for three months and you're holding two tickets to a movie marathon you were enthusiastic about attending up until roughly two minutes ago and you step through a portal into Star's room (don't think about it) and look _him_ in the eyes and ignore your rage. 

And you're willing to make this work, you want to change, really, but the kid's just so _infuriating_ , smug in all the worst ways and you swear to Satan he's intentionally testing your patience. 

You see Brian looking sternly at you through the eyes of his white tiger costume and you take a deep breath, collect your willpower, ignore the little voice screaming at you to disembowel someone, and put in your best effort. 

Lo and behold, it works.

\---

(it's not often that someone will treat you like this, like a friend instead of a scary prince with a scarier reputation in need of pacification. you had that with star for a while, maybe, but you haven't had it with anyone since the breakup.

slowly, the rage fades and you lose track of time and you let your guard down when he mentions love sentence and show him your collection of memorabilia, which you've never shown anyone, ever. you have a momentary heart attack when you see his blank stare, start coming up with excuses in your head, but when he smiles at you it's like a weight's been lifted and you're smiling too.

he's different from star. he listens when you talk and isn't constantly running his mouth and is perfectly capable of sitting still and is still unused to the wealth your position entitles you to. being around him is cathartic and you start to relax until the last four minutes rolls around and he has to ruin everything.

it takes maybe thirty seconds for you to realize how badly you fucked up, when he quotes your second favorite song ever and suddenly the rage is ruined by self-loathing and you don't know how to deal with self-loathing without anger so you let boy band lyrics do the talking for you because you know you're socially inept and it just seemed right.

and maybe you resurrect a dead kung-fu star because you have no idea how to apologize and maybe that was not the best idea, but sitting there eating cereal with marco on the sidewalk watching a zombie beat up bad guys is cathartic in its own way. and maybe it stings a little when he says he still hates you, but that's okay, because you still hate him too.)

\---

You hadn't realized how much you'd been talking about that night until Brian points it out to you, adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat. Brian suggests, in the delicate way that anger management counselors generally suggest things, that if you liked spending time with Marco that much then maybe you should consider meeting him again.

You scoff, because that's obviously ridiculous. You're the Prince of Hell. Why would you want to spend time with someone as boring as an Earthling? Brian concedes and leans back in his Therapist Armchair, scribbling in his notebook. 

Besides, you're pretty sure that Star's blocked your number by now anyways.

\---

It turns out that Star has not, in fact, blocked your number. Marco seems surprised and slightly pissed to find out that you called to speak to him. 

You stutter, because you hadn't really thought about what you wanted to say and are floundering for a conversational topic. Marco asks why you're calling him. You panic and call him a nerd, which leads to a lot more pissed coming from Marco, which in turn pisses you off further. By the time Marco finally hangs up on you, you've exhausted all of the profanity in your vocabulary and half of your bedroom is on fire.

When you finally calm down enough to see clearly again, you're filled with panic and regret. You immediately dial Star's number. 

Marco is still pissed. Your panic dissolves into anger. You fight. He hangs up.

This cycle repeats itself five times before Star finally comes in to see what all the ruckus is about. She screams at you, you may or may not threaten to go to her castle and personally destroy everything she's ever held dear, and (surprise, surprise) she consequently blocks your number. 

You trash your room for the fifth time and imagine how good it would feel to smash Diaz's skull in for as long as you can before the guilt finally slips its way back into your gut and you lay down on your shredded mattress and clench your teeth and refuse to cry.

\---

You're the Prince of Hell. Everyone in your dimension is desperate enough for your friendship to overlook any and all flaws you might have.

Meanwhile, the only person you want to befriend hates your guts.

You wave your hands around wildly while you explain this, sparks flying from your fingertips as you struggle to keep your temper. There's a smell of burnt hide from where the embers hit the leather therapy couch.

The irony of your situation is not lost on Brian.

\---

You're sitting on a tree branch outside Marco's window as dusk falls. It's an oddly comfortable place to rest-- you could imagine sitting out here for hours, looking over occasionally to glance in the window. Not that you would ever do that, of course. You're here to apologize, man to demon, not to sit around like some sort of surveillance goon. 

Except that Marco is not currently in his room, which is kind of throwing a wrench into your apology, but whatever. You can wait until he gets back.

You settle against the tree trunk, put in a pair of earbuds, and skip every Love Sentence song that shuffle picks.

\---

When he does get back, you force yourself to knock on his window. You maintain your nerve right up until he turns to face you. You're gone by the time he reaches the pane, hidden in the shadows near the tree trunk. Marco shrugs and returns to his math homework. 

You watch him from your perch in the tree. You hit the end of your current song and shuffle picks the next one. Too Little Too Late.

Of course.

\---

(in another world, you'd pull together your courage and puff up your chest and apologize. he'd let you into his room, skeptical at first but slowly warming up to you again when he realized that you meant no harm. he'd laugh at your jokes and listen to music with you and you'd feel less of that scraping loneliness in the pit of your stomach. you'd stay up late and talk to him with that blurry honesty you always got very late at night and he'd listen and you'd feel a little bit better.

this is what you dream about when you fall asleep outside his window.)

\---

By the third night, you know fully well that you're not going to say anything to him. That doesn't stop you from settling down on your ( _your?_ ) usual branch to peer into Marco's room as the sun sets. 

You're learning more about him. You know now that Marco is a responsible student who always gets his homework done right after classes, so long as Star doesn't drag him off somewhere for her own zany purposes. You learn that he sings along to the radio when he folds his laundry and that he had a meticulously organized closet. You know now that he twirls his bangs with the index finger of his left hand and that he chews on his lip when he focuses, brown eyes off in space. 

You absorb all of these details with the sort of rapt attention that you normally save for boy bands and foreign films. 

\---

(one night, you overheard him and star talking about an old vampire movie series that used to be popular on earth. marco explained that the main vampire, a glittery bloodsucker who was too broody to take seriously, did this real creepy thing where he watched the main girl while she slept. 

how creepy is _that_ , he asked star, if i were her i would have never gone near him if i'd known he'd been watching me like that. isn't that just... so stalkery? star laughed and agreed and said something you couldn't decipher because suddenly your heart was in your mouth and you felt inexplicably, painfully aware of how pathetic you were.

you managed to make it back to the castle before you began to rampage, not stopping until you'd burned everything in your sight.)

\---

It wasn't like you had anything better to do with your time, anyways.

\--- 

One day, about two weeks into your obsessive little ritual, you notice something off. 

Normally, Marco would be home from karate practice before dark. And yet, here you are: earbuds in, settled on your branch, a perfect view, and no sign of your Earthling. 

Star was spending the night with her friends. Mr. and Mrs. Diaz were out of town for their anniversary. You wait with increasing unease for an hour before finally caving in and heading towards the strip mall under the cover of darkness.

\---

When you finally find him, he's somehow managed to get himself captured by a group of actual, non-angst vampires who threaten to drain his blood if he doesn't reveal the location of Princess Butterfly. They have him pinned against a Dumpster, two on each side and one in the front, doing his best to look threatening as Marco struggles against the hold on his limbs. You note with a smirk the four vampires laying incapacitated a few feet away-- your mortal didn't go down without a fight.

Then you see the interrogator give Marco, your Marco, a terrible smile before leaning towards his neck and everything goes white.

\---

You fade back into consciousness a few minutes later, breathing heavily. All five vampires and most of the area surrounding them are engulfed in flames. Marco is shouting your name, voice pitched high with hysteria, and demanding to know what the heck you're doing here. You mumble out an incoherent excuse and avert your eyes. 

Marco, still sounding shocked, thanks you for saving his life. You stare at him for a moment, shocked. He gives you a lopsided smile, seems to realize that the silence has stretched on from "acceptable" to "uncomfortable", and awkwardly invites you back to his house for celebratory nachos. 

\---

You'd never had nachos before. You'd seen Marco make them a few times for Star, but had never been able to guess what they would taste like.

They're delicious.

\---

(there was something about standing there in the kitchen with him at one in the morning, making quiet smalltalk while he heats the oven and pours the chips into the pan, that's oddly soothing. you're both tired and still keyed up from the vampire encounter but when you're waiting for the nachos to finish baking you manage to crack a joke that makes him actually laugh, just for you.

and you're sitting there in the early hours of the morning talking about movies and combat and nothing of emotional importance while eating nachos in his kitchen. he smiles and says that maybe you got off on the wrong foot and that he still hates you a little but maybe you should hang out more often and you feel like you're glowing from the warmth of just being here with him.

you want time to stop now and stay here forever, but he has school the next morning and you have a meeting with some important dignitaries in a few hours so you say your goodbyes and he promises to call you and you sleep better that night than you have in a long time.)

\---

Time passes. 

You call him every few days and talk for hours. When you prove to him that you've got a better grip on your temper than you used to, really, you promise, he begins to open up to you again. He tells you about high school and fighting monsters with Star and his karate classes and you tell him about your parents and your kingdom and the sorts of lessons one needs to learn in order to be a proper Prince of Hell. 

On nights when you don't talk, you're outside his window. Your bring books now, sometimes your laptop, and only look up to see what he's up to intermittently. You worry, sometimes, that someday he'll look out the window and see you there and you won't have a good explanation for him, but for now he is oblivious and you are... Not quite happy, but closer than you've been in a long time. 

You're showing improvement, according to Brian.

\---

You recognize your problem in degrees. 

When you notice that you're thinking about him constantly, you rationalize: he's your only actual friend and you don't exactly have any other close relationships to speak of. 

When your heart stutters when he smiles, it's because you're happy to make your friend happy. Satan knows that you're constantly craving validation-- Brian blames your parents for their lack of emotional support throughout your childhood for that one.

When you spend your days in Hell missing him, wondering what he's up to and if he'll call that night and what is he thinking about _right now_ , is he thinking about you as much as you think about him, you ignore it.

What finally gets you to realize is considerably less romantic. 

You're laying in bed one afternoon jacking off to stock fantasies of blonde girls who look suspiciously like your ex. You've come to accept that you are not a particularly imaginative masturbator and this has never bothered you. You space out, your hand slowing down as your thoughts move away from your fictionalized C-cups to wonder what Marco is up to.

Your mind, in a twisted little leap of creativity that you never thought it capable of, combined the thought of Marco with the idea of sex and produced something that your dick responded to immediately. You closed your eyes and sped up your hand, teeth gritted as you tried not to cry out. The images were coming fast and furious: Marco, laying in your bed, moaning as you kissed your way down his neck. The way his face would twist in surprise and then lust as you pressed fingers into his mouth, drawing them in and out, coating them with saliva as he bucked underneath you. How hot his tongue was, how it would feel if he licked your cock. 

You didn't last long, and as you lay panting on your soiled sheets, bliss turned quickly to confusion and horror. Clearly you didn't think about him like _that_.

Except, as you thought about it for the first time and the pieces slowly began to tumble into place, you kind of do.

\---

You save his life two more times. Each time, he asks what you were doing on Earth. Each time, you inelegantly dodge the question. He shrugs and takes you home and makes you nachos. You hold the memories of these nights close and visit them often.

A sick little part of you hopes that he'll be attacked by monsters on the way home so that you can save him again.

Thinking about it too hard makes you want to break things.

\---

One day, he calls you in the middle of the afternoon. When you pick up, he's practically jumping up and down with excitement. You smile, and then he opens his mouth to tell you about this girl, Jamie.

Jamie, who is extremely cool. Jamie, who's amazingly attractive. Jamie, who he's been into since elementary school. Jamie, who just had a full conversation with him today, would you believe that? Isn't this exciting?

You're shaking so hard that it's a miracle that Marco doesn't see it through the mirror. Maybe he would, if he ever paid attention to you.

You choke out a blatant lie about being busy and hang up before he could open his mouth again and make things any worse. 

For the first time in a long time, you wreck your room.

\---

Brian sighs and scribbles something in his notebook while you throw a flaming grand piano out the window, screaming bloody murder.

\---

(he's more perceptive than you gave him credit for, because half an hour and ten missed calls later, he's cut himself a dimensional rift into your room and sees you standing there, still hyperventilating.

he sits you down and puts a hand on your back and says soothing things until your eyes stop glowing. when he asks what happened, you mumble something about a trade deal going bad. he accepts this at face value and you feel a little nauseous.

but he sticks around and helps you clean your room, organizing drawers that had never been organized before and tucking in your duvet even when you protest that you have serving demons to do that for you. 

he's never seen your room before, so you show him around after it's cleaned. he likes it. you feel like you're glowing with his approval.

he winds up spending the night. you play video games and marathon mackie hand movies and finally he passes out in your bed, snoring softly. 

you're filled with a weird mix of serenity and ecstasy and desperation and confusion and so many other things, seeing him there. you want to reach out and brush the hair out of his eyes. you respect his boundaries and keep your distance. 

you fall asleep wishing you hadn't.)

\---

He never brings up Jackie after that.

\---

Things are going well with him when your parents drop the bomb.

As Prince of Hell, they explain, you are expected to, well, pick a consort. They were hoping that, by the time you turned eighteen, you would already be in a steady relationship with an eligible princess. However, seeing as you'd been single for the past four years, they were, well, as it was, exacerbating the process slightly.

Your betrothed, a lovely demon princess whose beauty and bloodlust were renowned throughout the Underworld, would be coming to visit tomorrow evening. You would have to--

You didn't get to hear the rest of this speech over the sounds of your own howls. 

It takes an hour and several guards to eventually subdue you. You'd managed to burn down an entire wing of the castle in this time. Your parents are beside themselves.

You are exiled from the Underworld until further notice. 

\---

When the door to the Diaz house opens, you brace yourself for Marco's reaction. You know that you look like a wreck-- hair singed, fashionably distressed clothes shredded by the royal guards, barefoot. It's raining on Earth. That's where the moisture on your face came from.

You didn't expect Star to be the one at the door.

She lets you in hesitantly. When you ask after Marco, you learn that he's at Ferguson's house working on a science project. Hugging your arms, you stumble into the kitchen as Star follows you. 

You're not sure what you're looking for in there. Something familiar, maybe. Something comforting to tide your emotions over until Marco got back to ensure that your self-loathing didn't lead to more property damage.

You've never seen the kitchen in daylight before. It's different than it is in your nighttime memories, the colors brighter and harsher in the noon sunshine. You sink to the cool checkered floor and lean against a cabinet.

Star crouches down next to you and, in usual Star manner, makes funny faces at you until you crack a grin. She's surprisingly (unsurprisingly) sympathetic to the whole "exiled by parents for making a mess of the castle" thing. Her silliness is infectious, the way it always has been. By the time Marco gets home, she's busy introducing you to "ice cream," an Earth food that you'd seen in tourist brochures but had never been able to put a name to. 

\---

(and marco, oh. the second he comes into the kitchen it's like you can breathe again.)

\---

It takes exactly seven words to the Diaz parents ("this is Tom, he's living here now") to have them welcome you wholeheartedly into their home.

You do your best to show your gratitude. You'd never quite understood Marco's parents and you can't shake the impression that they're abnormal even by Earth's strange standards, but they are kind in a way your own family never was. 

Marco leads you to his room, offering to carry your bag and flinching when he realizes that you don't have one. He lends you a hoodie and pants to replace your ripped clothes and shoos you into the bathroom to shower the soot off your skin. When you emerge from the steam, clean and clad in Marco's clothing, you feel like some vital princely part of you has been stripped away, leaving you exposed to the unnaturally cool air of Earth. It's not necessarily a bad feeling. Just... Different.

The moment you leave the bathroom, he sits you down and demands to know everything. You burrow a little deeper into his hoodie (it smells like him, you realize suddenly, you are wearing his hoodie and used his shampoo and now you're surrounded by his smell and you're overwhelmed) and explain haltingly that you might have maybe been exiled for destroying the castle. He asks you why you did it. You freeze.

He explains that, at the end of the day, you are in fact single. Your parents probably chose a solid princess for you, if only to protect the family name, and wouldn't it be worth a shot to see if, y'know, anything might develop between you? 

You just stare at him, pained, until he shrugs and acknowledges that arranged marriages are stupid anyways. 

\---

There was talk about enrolling you in school on Earth, about maybe adding another tower to the house if you decided to stay for a while. Arrangements for food and clothing shopping were made. The practical considerations were briefly interrupted by monsters attacking the house, but between you, Star, and Marco they posed no threat whatsoever. Mrs. Diaz made all of you spaghetti and meatballs (another confusing Earth food-- Star, as the only other non-Earthling in attendance, proudly explained the process for getting the slippery noodles onto your fork). It was disconcertingly banal.

You share the bed with him again. He's out the second his head hits the pillow, and once again you keep your distance.

\---

(you wake up before him the next morning, both of your bodies tangled in the bedsheets. his back is pressed against your torso, warm and inviting through his thin t-shirt. you check that he isn't awake yet before carefully, carefully wrapping your arm around him.

his hair is in your face and your left leg is numb and you needed this, you needed so badly to be close to him and you make this little desperate sound that you don't recognize as yourself when you pull him just a tiny bit closer.

you play dumb when he wakes up.)

\---

You start school the next day. You go to the mall for clothes and learn what a food court is. You fight monsters in the evenings. You spend a lot of time with Marco, which you expected, and a lot of time with Star, which you did not. You go on wild adventures. You laugh more. You ignore the increasingly desperate calls from your parents.

Your temper hasn't been a problem since you left Hell a week ago. You feel like you're finally moving on with your life.

\---

You're chilling out in Star's room, bouncing aimlessly on her bed as she tells this wildly embellished story about the time she and Marco broke into princess prison to kidnap her best friend when she pauses suddenly. 

You shoot a look in her direction and her expression is thoughtful, which is always a little bit terrifying with Star because nobody can ever tell what kind of ridiculousness she could cook up. You're bracing yourself for something utterly wild when she turns to you, face dead serious, and asks if you've confessed your feelings to Marco yet.

You sputter and ask her what the heck she's talking about. She refuses to play dumb. You're left in uncomfortable silence. 

She tells you that you should probably do that sooner rather than later. When you ask her why, she shoots a pointed look at her mirror. Twenty missed calls from your parents.

You know things can't stay like this forever.

\---

The next time your parents call, you answer them.

You're not returning to Hell yet, but they make it abundantly clear that you will either be returning soon to face your princess or abandoning your birthright for good. 

The give you three days to wrap up your business on Earth.

\---

You spend the entirety of your three days by Marco's side. You do everything together-- you go to the movies, practice marshal arts, play video games, torment Star, and listen to as much Love Sentence as you can fit into your waking hours. 

Every night, you fall asleep a foot away from him. Every morning, you wake up pressed together. You've gotten more clingy as the week and a half has passed, and he's gotten used to waking up to you messing with his hair or tracing circles on his back. You never talk about it, never acknowledge it. 

You don't know how you can go back to sleeping without him.

\---

The night before your time is up finds you sitting on Marco's bed, legs dangling. He's sitting next to you, his shoulder pressed against yours. Both of you pretend to ignore this. 

So, he says. You're packed, huh.

He kicks the old suitcase Mr. Diaz lent you to store your precious few Earth belongings in. Mrs. Diaz had somehow managed to compile an entire photo album of your time here and you've buried it under layers of clothes for safekeeping. 

He says, it's not like you'll be gone forever. It'll be like before, y'know? Like when we just called every few days and you'd save my life every once in a while and you'd sit outside my window and--

You cut him off, sputtering, and he laughed because really, did he think that Twilight comment wasn't meant for him? You're blushing and feeling like an idiot, he's snorting with laughter, and you just. Tell him.

He says that he knew.

His shoulder is pressed against yours and your legs are hanging over the edge of his bed and you're watching his feet and your feet and some desperately romantic part of you says, see how well we fit together. And it says, kiss him.

But he's ahead of you on that count and suddenly your lips are together and it's clumsy and off-center so you cup his cheek in your hand and fix it, press against him with all the finesse and skill you can muster and he's laughing against your mouth and bumps his forehead against yours and you are in heaven.

You spend the rest of the night next to him in bed, kissing and touching and exploring, your hands mapping him out carefully, delicately as he tugs your shirt off. His fingertips make you shiver as they run up the nape of your neck, down the curve of your spine, back up your chest. He's smiling at you, your faces millimeters apart as you press up to kiss him as he starts messing with the waistband of your pants. You can feel the long, slow sigh against your cheek when you finally, finally take him in your hand, stroke him slowly, reverently as he slides your boxers down. 

It's warm and intimate and when morning finds you both curled up against each other, you feel dread at the thought of getting out of bed, pulling the sheets up to hide your face. Marco runs his fingers down your back, comforting, but the gentleness of it makes you ache. 

He manages to coax you out of bed and into the shower, and when you finally leave the bathroom you find him downstairs with Star and his parents, ready to cut your going-away party cake. The bell to summon your carriage rests beside your plate, glinting coldly in the warm kitchen.

\---

Goodbyes are brief but painful. Mr. and Mrs. Diaz get hugs and promises of a tour through the Underworld sometime before their deaths. Star nearly tackles you with her goodbye, a weird mix between a noogie and a headlock that leaves you nostalgic for your early teen years. You share a long look with Marco and pull him into a tight embrace. When you finally pull apart, Star makes a smug sound and demands five bucks from Marco, but he's only looking at you, pleading with his eyes.

You look away. You ring the bell. 

\--- 

You destroy half the castle in your first day back alone. By day three, your fiancee has managed to irk you so horribly that you manage to set her on fire in one of your rages, in spite of her natural demonic fireproofing. You've been on the mirror with Marco and Star for hours each day. Coincidentally, these constitute the vast majority of the time you spend without destruction. 

Your parents confront you, demand that you control your temper in front of the princess. You fly into another rage and won't stop emitting fireballs until someone gets Marco on the mirror.

You desperately miss home.

\---

Brian says that he's never seen you this bad before.

You're sitting on the leather therapy couch, twitching. You haven't slept more than an hour a night since returning to the Underworld. You overheard the word "intervention" whispered in the background the last time you spoke with Marco.

Despite the fact that your agitation is literally setting objects on fire, Brian remains unflappable.

Brian asks why you're so angry.

You explain to him in no uncertain terms that staying in Hell was killing you. This wasn't anger anymore. This was desperation.

You're trembling from some unholy mixture of exhaustion, hunger, and fear. You're fairly certain that your eyes hadn't had a pupil since you'd returned to the Underworld. You ask Brian what in Satan's name you should do.

Brian says, leave.

You are suddenly very still.

Brian says, polishing his glasses, that he was hired to make you worthy of the throne of Hell. He was not hired to talk you into taking it.

Brian says that, sometimes, you need to do what is best for yourself, even if your family might not necessarily understand yet, or even ever. 

Brian says, this is how we grow as people. 

You hesitate, but only for a moment. You stand up.

You thank Brian for his service. You scratch the bunny behind the ears one last time and leave to pack your bag.

Behind you, Brian closes his notebook.

\---

It's dawn when you return to the Diaz house, Mr. Diaz's suitcase slightly charred but otherwise intact in your hand. 

Before you can knock, he opens the door for you with a smile. 

He says, welcome home. 

Hand in hand, you walk to the kitchen.

**Author's Note:**

> "When there's a burning in your heart,  
> An endless yearning in your heart,  
> Build it bigger than the sun,  
> Let it grow, let it grow.  
> When there's a burning in your heart,  
> Don't be alarmed.
> 
> And if you feel just like a tourist in the city you were born,  
> Then it's time to go  
> And define your destination,  
> There's so many different places to call home.  
> Because when you find yourself the villain in the story you have written,  
> It's plain to see  
> That sometimes the best intentions are in need of redemptions,  
> Would you agree?
> 
> (if so, please show me.)"
> 
> Thank you so much for making it through this wild ride of a fic with me. Kudos to the amazing @jinxedlucky, who is always willing to beta my work, even when I wrote it at six in the morning and it really sucks. Come say hi to me on tumblr @idiosyncraticmagic!


End file.
